


shiseido, mac and maybelline

by elithewho



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bodyswap, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, MacGuffins, Magic, Masturbation, Sexism, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: In retrospect, Graves should have gone straight to the Magical Artifacts Department to have them sort it out… suffice to say, Graves had been subjected to enough public humiliation for one lifetime.Graves and Queenie swap bodies and everyone blushes a lot.





	shiseido, mac and maybelline

**Author's Note:**

> Love and eternal thanks to Morgan <3 who always provides the best feedback, betaing and cheerleading.
> 
> Title is from "I Do" by Placebo.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Graves was still stuck on desk duty, to his eternal consternation, but he was playing the obedient subordinate. Otherwise Picquery may never let him back in the field. The shame and notoriety of his capture and Grindelwald’s impersonation still followed him around like a grim black cloud. 

“Why don’t you take a vacation, Graves?” Picquery had suggested during one of their many conversations in which Graves attempted to subtly grovel for his job back. “It would do you a world of good.”

She looked almost pitying. Graves did not respond directly to that suggestion. He hoped his silence would provide her the only answer he could give.

The only two MACUSA employees who treated him as though he still had any amount of his old clout were the Goldstein sisters. Tina Goldstein just seemed happy enough to have her old job back, and she had witnessed her old boss transform back into Grindelwald before his arrest. Perhaps she could more easily see him as himself, and not a dark wizard in disguise.

He had thought the same must be true for the other Goldstein sister. He hadn’t even been aware of her existence before this whole affair but for whatever reason she kept dropping by his office. Her job was… delivering coffee, apparently? It was all she seemed to be doing when he saw her. A tray of mugs in her hands, a little pot of sugar and pitcher of milk floating after her like ducklings bobbing after their mother. There was always a smile on her face, a note of cheerfulness and optimism in her voice that annoyed Graves to no end when he was forced to confront it. His own world had shrunk down to the dour confines of his office; his attempts at ridding the space of Grindelwald’s presence; the loneliness of his empty apartment. He would have preferred to suffer in brooding silence until such a time as Picquery decided to fully re-instate him.

Instead, Queenie Goldstein found her way inside his office every afternoon. It was almost like she didn’t know about the carefully constructed bubble he had formed around himself in the twenty or so years he had worked at MACUSA and the rules that came with it. Number one was nobody was allowed in his office. His office was his place of sanctuary, free of distractions and the annoyances of bureaucratic life. The trite conversation and small talk that grated at him, the cheerfulness, the laughter. He had disliked such things long before his imprisonment, but even more so when his nerves were so much more… frayed. On edge. Delicate, his mother would have said. She was always going on about her delicate nerves.

So into that place of peace, that temple that had been desecrated already by Grindelwald making use of it while wearing his face, came Queenie Goldstein and her tray of coffees. Graves was subjected to her coffee and her cheerfulness and her incessant talking every afternoon, it seemed.

That day was just like all the others in that respect. Queenie had only just arrived on the heels of the mail cart, depositing a stack of paperwork, interdepartmental memos, and a small brown package. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Graves!” she announced in a sing-song voice that Graves barely acknowledged. “Here’s your coffee. I know I’m a bit late, the funniest thing happened in the Wand Permit Office…”

Graves was only half paying attention to her story, which he was sure he didn’t care about in the slightest. He took a sip from the mug she had forced on him, sighing in contentment. She did make a very good cup of coffee. Maybe that was the reason he didn’t tell her in no uncertain terms to leave him alone and never enter his office again. It couldn’t be that he had come to rely on her for company because no one else bothered to talk to him on a daily basis. That definitely wasn’t it. Still, he had lost the thread of Queenie’s story about the exploding quills as he turned his attention to the stack of mail on the corner of his desk.

Memos, tedious paperwork, reports from junior aurors he was required to sign. He had all the time in the world these days to sift through the endless stream of parchment, and with a self-pitying sigh he cut through the coarse string tying the package addressed to him. From within the brown paper, out rolled a glittering purple orb.

“Oh, how pretty…” Queenie had become distracted by the orb enough to stop gossiping about Abernathy’s personal life, which was good because Graves had no idea who Abernathy even was. “What is it?” she asked curiously, bending over slightly to admire how the orb caught the light.

It was a pretty thing, but Graves had no idea what it was or why someone would send it to him. He reached for his wand, intending on testing it for magical residue before touching it, but Queenie was already extending her hand.

“I wouldn’t –“ he began, just when the tips of her fingers made contact with the orb’s surface.

There was a bang and then a fizzle. _Something_ engulfed them both with enough power to knock them off their feet and Graves hit the ground, dazed. There was a strange, sulfuric taste in his mouth and a ringing in his ears. His auror’s instincts kicked in and he immediately began inspecting himself for injury. That’s when he encountered the first thing that didn’t belong. 

“Mercy Lewis!” someone exclaimed, and it wasn’t Queenie. Or, it was Queenie but… “Mr. Graves, what are you doing in my body?”

 

In retrospect, Graves should have gone straight to the Magical Artifacts Department to have them sort it out. He’d heard tales of body-switching magic being used as cruel pranks or for other nefarious purposes, but he’d never encountered it in the flesh. And to be subjected to it… suffice to say, Graves had been subjected to enough public humiliation for one lifetime. He was already the laughingstock of MACUSA and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire.

Queenie, apparently, was delighted. Or at least he thought that was the case. He’d never seen that particular expression on his own face before and she kept examining his hands or patting his chest, popping up on his tiptoes with a ridiculous grin on his face. Or her face. It was her face, now. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to endure that little bit of existential discomfort.

“It’s amazing!” Queenie announced. “I can’t hear a thing! What about you, can you…?”

Graves nodded stiffly. If any magical theorists wanted to know if natural legilimency was a part of the physical body or the magical soul, he had their answer. He was an accomplished legilimens and occlumens already, for all the good it did him while held captive by Grindelwald, but it was nothing like this. He could read every thought going through Queenie’s head without even trying that hard and if he focused he could make out the thoughts of the wizards and witches down the hall and the floors above and below them. The first thing he discovered was that Queenie really did voice almost every thought that entered her head.

“So you think you can fix this on your own?” Queenie said, her tone rather skeptical.

“There’s no reason to make an incident out of this,” Graves mumbled, far more uncomfortable in Queenie’s body than she was in his. How she managed the entire day in heels, he really didn’t know. “I’ll need, uh, a few days. In the meantime we should just…”

“Pretend to be each other?” Queenie finished for him, looking as though it were a delightful prospect. “Oh, how fun!”

Graves frowned deeply. The only thing he could think of that was less fun was explaining to Madame Picquery how he found himself trapped in the body of the coffee witch.

“For starters, I never make that expression,” Queenie continued. “Here –“ She – well, _pranced_ was the best way he could describe it – over to him and took his chin in her very large hand. Had his hands always been that massive? It was deeply unnerving being suddenly so short. Queenie seemed to tower over him, impossibly broad. “You have to smile or else everyone will know something’s wrong. Go on, try it.”

Graves attempted his best impression of Queenie’s innate cheerfulness.

Queenie winced. “Well, try your best and just tell everyone I have a cold, I guess.”

“You need to stop smiling all together,” Graves told her with a sniff. “And stop walking like that.”

Queenie giggled and witnessing himself make such a sound was something he never wished to experience again. But then she composed herself and put on a dour expression that could have fooled anyone. She straightened her shoulders and with a few false starts, walked across the room in a far more masculine fashion than she had managed thus far.

“Much better,” he conceded. “Just try not to talk to anyone unless you absolutely must.”

“Of course you’re a spoilsport,” Queenie huffed. “You need to stop standing like a linebacker.”

Graves glanced down at himself. It was hard to get used to seeing _that_ when he looked down. Queenie approached him again and placed one large hand on the small of his back and the other on the top of his chest, right above his collarbone. Graves couldn’t help but blush at the contact.

“You need to stand with your chest out, your back arched… there you go!” 

As Queenie manipulated him into a more feminine pose, Graves shook off her hands, pushed a stray curl out of his face and attempted to walk across the room with Queenie’s customary grace. It was harder than it looked. His own boots had quite a bit of height to them since he enjoyed towering over others as much as possible, but Queenie’s tiny shoes with their heels were something else. It took a bit of practice and he could hear Queenie giggling behind her hand the whole time, but in the end he managed it.

“You don’t live with anyone, do you?” Queenie asked anxiously as Graves carefully examined the offending orb without touching it.

“No,” Graves answered gruffly, his cheeks heating up again.

“That's good,” she muttered. “I’m just imagining all kinds of awkward things.” And Graves could too, since he was now privy to all her thoughts and she didn’t seem bothered enough to hide them. “Just tell Teenie you have a cold and you still feel blue about Jacob, she’ll understand. It’s kind of a good thing we got a new place recently, separate bedrooms!”

Graves nodded grimly, steeling himself for encountering his colleague and having to pretend to be her sister. He was most worried about how he could fool her; weren’t sisters supposed to have a close, mystical bond or something? His skin prickled in anticipation. It would only be a few days, at most.

The rest of the afternoon was consumed with giving each other tips on how to act more like the other person and casting spells on the evil little orb to determine its nature.

“Back at Ilvermorny I heard of a couple kids trying to cast a body-swapping curse on two of the professors,” Queenie said in a hushed tone, leaning in close to examine it. “But they never managed it.”

“It’s obscure magic, that’s for sure,” Graves muttered. “I’ll stop by the bookstore tonight.”

Queenie looked at her wrist on instinct and then fumbled in her pocket for Graves’s pocket watch. “It’s late,” she told him with a lopsided smile. “Teenie will start to wonder where I am.”

Graves grunted in annoyance. He’d been half hoping they could manage to switch back before he needed to interact with Tina Goldstein.

“What about wands?” Queenie asked suddenly, hand flying to her pocket where Graves kept his wand tucked for safe keeping. “Can you use mine?”

Graves held Queenie’s wand aloft and tried a simple non-verbal summoning charm. It seemed to work perfectly, his inkpot floating towards him just as he intended. Queenie did a bit of wand-waving of her own, creating a bunch of pink flowers from thin air.

“I suppose wands are a bit like your legilimency,” Graves said with interest. “They react more to our physical bodies and willpower than the soul. How fascinating. I’ll have to cut back on wandless magic, however.”

“And why would it be strange if I did wandless magic?” Queenie said with some irritation. Graves raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I just don’t feel the need to show off all the time, is all.”

Graves couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not. 

In the end, Graves departed his office first, wrapped in Queenie’s coat and wearing her hat low over his eyes, feeling exceptionally self-conscious. He hadn’t felt so awkward and out of place in his own skin since Ilvermorny. He also had to be conscious of walking like Queenie and not looking too grumpy. Why did Queenie have to smile at everyone? He hated smiling, especially at people.

He realized after a bit that people were looking at him, but not because he was acting particularly strange. It seemed like every male person he encountered had eyes for him and a string of crude thoughts to match. Graves tried not to glare at them and kept moving as quickly as possible, but Queenie’s heels made it harder to move with haste. Worst of all, he was used to having longer legs and he had never appreciated how quickly those long strides had once taken him from place to place. Queenie had given him directions to her place, but he couldn’t apparate without seeing it first, making everything much more complicated.

He could apparate to the bookstore, at least. He quickly located the books he had in mind, the ones on obscure branches of magic and soul displacement.

“Are you sure you can handle these types of magics, little lady?” the old wizard at the counter said in a condescending drawl.

Graves gave him the dirtiest look he could muster but the old man only chuckled before wrapping them up. Graves bundled them into Queenie’s small handbag with an enlargement charm on it and set off for her apartment. 

Being out on the street was even worse. At least inside MACUSA the wizards with wandering eyes kept their lewd comments to themselves.

_“Hey honey, where you going in such a hurry?”_

_“How much for a date, doll face?”_

_“Give us a smile, love.”_

Graves was shocked. Did Queenie have to deal with this every day? Did all women? It didn’t help that he was considerably smaller than all of the men hurling threatening compliments his way, grinning lecherously and making crude gestures. He kept one hand wrapped around his wand at all times, refusing to acknowledge a single one of them.

All in all, Graves was wondering why he ever let his pride get the better of him. It would have been so simple to ask the experts to fix him and Queenie up. They might spend a few nights in the healing ward but that would be it. Instead, he’d put himself in this ridiculous situation, with no one to blame but himself.

“Queenie!”

It took several moments for him to remember he was meant to be responding to that name. It was an older woman Graves assumed to be the landlady Queenie had warned him about.

“Why so glum?” the landlady asked in a rather accusatory tone, glaring at him.

“I – I have a cold,” Graves muttered, forcing himself to smile.

The landlady squinted at him for a moment before huffing and then stomping off. Relieved, Graves raced up the stairs and into the apartment Queenie shared with her sister.

It was an extremely cramped space. Graves felt another wave of anxiety, wondering how on earth he would co-exist with Tina without raising suspicions. The witch in question was sitting at the small table in what passed for a dining room, enjoying a plate of cookies and pot of tea while reading a book.

“Where have you been?” Tina asked when she saw him.

“I’m… not feeling very well,” he said, busying himself with hanging up his hat and coat by the door.

“Got your period?” Tina asked casually and Graves could feel himself turn fire engine red. “Mine’s a bit late, now that you mention it.” Tina tapped her chin thoughtfully and Graves desperately wished he had blocked out her musings over a recent liaison with a certain British magizoologist. 

“I’m going to take a bath,” Graves muttered and hurried towards what he hoped was the bathroom.

“Don’t you want dinner?” Tina called after him and Graves shouted back a negative as he successfully located the bathroom.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he locked the door. _Would_ Queenie get her period? Now that was a horrible thought. Pushing it aside, Graves set about drawing a bath, since it would look strange if he didn’t now.

As the tub filled with steaming water, Graves was confronted with a glaring flaw in his brilliant plan to take a bath: he’d have to undress. Of course that was an inevitable part of the whole unfortunate mess, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. It all felt a bit rude and invasive, but he was also the caretaker of her body now. It wouldn’t do to not properly clean it.

In all honestly, it had been an embarrassingly long time since Graves had undressed a woman. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had the opportunity. But he was fairly certain it was a very different operation from undressing his own body. Who decided the buttons should be in the back, of all places? Once he had struggled out of Queenie’s dress without tearing it, he glanced briefly down at the slippery, lacy slip she wore underneath. Mortified, Graves pulled it over his head and very carefully did not look down as he fumbled with her garters. After several long moments he conceded it couldn’t be done without looking, so he did. It was a simple procedure of clinical detachment, he reasoned, cheeks filling with heat as he unsnapped her garters and slipped her silk stockings off before shimmying out of her garter belt.

He left it all in a heap of lace and silk, stepping into the bath more quickly than he should have. The water was far too hot and he cursed, leaping out again. Silently berating himself, he cast a cooling charm to make it more bearable and stepped back in again. It was so alien in this body. He was quite aware of having breasts - he could not only feel the weight of them, but he’d never been so conscious of his own nipples before. There was a discomforting lack of balls between his legs that he tried to ignore as he bent his knees, sinking into the water. Well, at least a hot bath felt just as good in Queenie’s body as it did in his own.

He cleaned himself as quickly as he could while being thorough, trying not to look down too much. Queenie’s body was turning pink in the hot water and her breasts floated in the water, rosy nipples peeking through the surface. His mind responded to the sight of naked breasts, no matter whose body he was in. 

Feeling sick with himself, Graves climbed out and pulled the stopper, letting the water drain away as he wrapped himself safely in a fluffy towel. The sooner this all was over, the better.

He dried himself best he could and made his way to Queenie’s room. He found a place to store her undergarments and hung her dress in the closet, making sure to locate where she kept new ones for the next day. It felt wrong to go poking through her things, but needs must. Her underwear drawer made him blush all over again, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the variety. A quick flick through her closet showed him that Queenie had excellent taste in clothes. She was thrifty, but didn’t lack for quality. Graves himself did not care for much color, but he couldn’t help but appreciate a nice wardrobe.

He was reminded of being in his mother’s room as a child, surrounded by all the mystical and mysterious feminine artifacts. Pots of makeup, boxes of jewelry, a closet full of brightly-colored silks. Her room was full of trinkets and keepsakes in the way his certainly was not. His own spartan existence was never thrown in sharper relief than when he saw how other people lived.

After he managed to locate what looked like a nightgown and put it on there was a knock on the door. Graves couldn’t help but jump in alarm and felt like a fool.

“Hey Queenie, do you want a hot water bottle?” came Tina’s voice through the door.

“No, thank you,” he said, perhaps a bit sharply. “Goodnight… Teenie,” he said after a beat, cringing at himself.

“Night,” was Tina’s reply. As she walked away, Graves could hear her thinking that Queenie must still be pretty broken up about Jacob and he relaxed a fraction.

Really, he hadn’t suffered this much anxiety since he was in school. It was ridiculous and he felt like a teenager all over again, berating himself for every awkward word out of his mouth. He crawled into Queenie’s bed, frowning at her garish pink bedspread, and summoned the books he had purchased earlier. If he was going to end this torment, he’d better get cracking.

 

Graves slept fitfully, the unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar body making it hard to get comfortable and stay asleep. When he tried to clear his head and relax, he found other people’s thoughts interfering. The neighbors through thin walls, the landlady, Tina just a room away with her dreams of redheaded Brits. He knew it was dawn when the room filled with a soft gray light and he couldn’t lay in Queenie’s bed any longer. 

He dressed himself in one of Queenie’s dresses, fumbling his way through figuring out how her undergarments worked. After splashing his face with cold water he went out onto the landing so he could disapparate without disturbing anyone.

Once he arrived in his own foyer, he nearly sagged with relief at the familiar surroundings. Deciding that he could fix this mess himself had definitely been a mistake, but he couldn’t undo that now. He hoped that Queenie at least had adjusted better than he had.

In the kitchen, he began to make coffee as he did every other morning. The routine was soothing. More than anything he wanted a cigarette. It was a habit he didn’t allow himself to indulge in unless he was truly stressed out. He knew exactly where his tobacco and packet of rolling papers were stored beside his bed but he didn’t dare do so without Queenie’s permission. It was her body, he was just staying in it.

As the percolator bubbled, Graves heard movement from the bedroom. It was still entirely surreal to see his own bulky form without being inside it. He watched himself amble out of the bedroom wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and he felt his face heat up.

“Queenie, you’re not wearing anything,” he said awkwardly and she laughed. Now that was an equally strange sight. Percival Graves laughing.

“But it’s your body,” she said with a grin, hair still a mess from sleeping. “You see yourself naked all the time, dontcha?”

Graves didn’t respond because of course she was right. But now he was thinking about Queenie seeing him naked, stripping down, possibly showering. He had a full length mirror in his bedroom, the best for checking his appearance for flaws before going to work. Queenie, remarkably, did not seem embarrassed in the slightest.

“Being a man is wonderful,” she remarked with a deep sigh. “You’re so tall! And everyone practically runs away from you if you scowl enough. And! I don’t have to listen to anyone’s thoughts. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet. Gosh, having a penis is strange though.”

Graves found himself lost for words. Queenie seemed to take everything in stride, no matter how bizarre or uncomfortable. He carefully tuned out her thoughts, but he could feel her buoyant contentment loud and clear. She summoned mugs with a flourish and began pouring their coffee as sugar cubes and cream floated out of the cabinet and ice box respectively.

“But how are you enjoying getting in touch with your feminine side, Mr. Graves?” Queenie couldn’t read his mind anymore, but she must have seen it written all over his face. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

Graves huffed, hating how petulant he must seem to her. “Men are so rude,” he muttered. 

Queenie sighed, patting his hand lightly. “You’ll get used to it,” she said sympathetically, large hand still stroking his wrist.

Blushing, desperate to distract himself, Graves took a deep sip of coffee. It was just how he liked it and he marveled again at Queenie’s excellent memory.

“Look on the bright side,” Queenie continued, stirring her coffee with her wand. “You can’t say it isn’t fun being in a girl’s body, right?”

Graves was sure his cheeks were blotchy red and Queenie was giving him a cheeky grin that he’d never seen on his own face before. “Queenie –“ he managed to stutter out. “I-I wouldn’t –“

“Listen,” she said with a tap on his arm. “If you want to be a gentleman, go right ahead. But if you want to do a little exploring in a lady’s body, I won’t mind.” She gave him a wink that had Graves looking down into his coffee, too embarrassed to respond. 

“We’re sharing a very intimate experience, Mr. Graves,” she said. “I say we quit being embarrassed and just try and enjoy it, right?”

Graves cast his mind around for something to say to effectively change the subject. “I did a lot of reading last night,” he finally settled on. “There are some potions that could reverse the effect, but I’ll need to visit the apothecary.”

Queenie merely nodded, finishing her coffee in one smooth gulp. Graves stayed at the table, stewing in his thoughts, while Queenie got dressed for the day. It didn’t seem fair that Queenie could be so calm and serene about being trapped in a strange man’s body when he was constantly on the verge of losing his mind.

Before arriving at MACUSA, Graves stopped in at a local apothecary to collect the potion ingredients he would need. It wouldn’t do to arrive at work at the same time as Queenie. He hated the thought of being the subject of more gossip.

“Did you want another bundle of Queen Anne’s lace seeds, dearie?” the witch who worked the counter asked him as he was checking out.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he muttered, reasoning that Queenie must be a regular customer. It was the best apothecary in the city, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He did know that Queen Anne’s lace seeds were the primary ingredient in contraceptive potions. The knowledge made him blush all over again. Ridiculous. It wasn’t his business what Queenie did in her personal life.

He visited his office first thing to store the potion ingredients and the books he had purchased the night before. He also wanted to give Queenie a pep talk.

“At least Madame Picquery still has me chained to the desk,” he said with only a trace of bitterness. 

Queenie was shuffling through his backlog of parchment with a look on her face that suggested she was looking forward to a day at the state fair instead of tedious paperwork. “This'll be fun,” she said, dipping her quill in the inkpot with a flourish. “Abernathy sometimes gives me his paperwork to fill out and it’s much more interesting that fixing the john.”

Graves had to wonder if that was strictly in Abernathy’s job description. Either way, Queenie also had a list of tasks for him to preform, least of which was unclogging toilets. He thought he could handle making coffee, at least.

The reality was a little more… stressful. He had clearly been naïve before, assuming that the secretaries and coffee witches had an easy time of it. Naïve and a bit snobby, he admitted to himself. He was constantly on the run delivering coffee to different departments, and he was expected to be in several places at once at all times. Queenie’s shoes were killing him, and everyone treated him with a mixture of condescension and dismissal.

He was taking a well-deserved break, resting his sore feet and longing for the solitary peace of his office where no one spoke to him at all, let alone barked orders at him as though he were going deaf. The young man Graves had learned was called Abernathy approached him with a stack parchment.

“Not feeling too hot, Queenie?” he said after dropping the stack in front of him. “You look peaky.”

“I have… a migraine,” he said lamely.

“Sorry to hear that,” he muttered. Graves dearly wished he couldn’t see the other man’s thoughts. He was imagining taking Queenie home with him and giving her a foot massage. The man was apparently obsessed with feet. “Well, anyway, could you fill these forms out for me? I need them by end of day.” Before even waiting for him to respond, Abernathy was walking off. Annoyed, but content to be sitting down for the foreseeable future, Graves got to work. 

At lunchtime he was roped into going to the food cart with the other coffee witches who all had a lot to say about how miserable Queenie was acting and why she looked so pale.

“You got a fella jerking you around?” one of the witches said, patting his arm sympathetically.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he conceded, hoping they would drop it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without lipstick,” another commented and Graves couldn’t think of a response.

Later in the afternoon, he wondered how Queenie ever found the time to visit him every day, let alone maintain such a cheerful demeanor. After doing Abernathy’s work for him, there was more coffee to make and deliver and he felt as run down as he had chasing dark wizards all over the city. 

When he was finally able to escape the constant requests from wizards who seemingly didn’t need anything at all and just wanted to watch him walk away while thinking crude thoughts about his ass, Graves made it to his office. He found Queenie building a small tower out of quills.

“There you are,” she said while stifling a yawn. “I hope your day was more exciting than mine.”

Graves collapsed onto the couch he had for the sole purpose of sleeping on when he wanted to pull an all-nighter, kicking off his heels and slumping back in a very unladylike manner. “I hope that means you got all my work done,” he muttered.

“Oh yes, and I reorganized your filing cabinet,” she said with a bright grin. “Gosh, it got lonesome though. There’s no one to talk to!”

“Yeah,” Graves said, sighing wistfully. “I hope I didn’t damage your reputation. Everyone thought I was ill.”

“Well, you aren’t wearing makeup,” Queenie said with a giggle and Graves frowned.

“It’s not right that wizards feel the need to treat you so shabbily because you’re a witch,” he said with a grumble.

Queenie shrugged and got up to sit next to him on the couch. “Don’t let it get to you,” she said. “We’ll be back in our own bodies in no time.”

But Graves did not feel reassured. Even when he was back to being treated like a man, he couldn’t go back to not knowing how it felt to be treated like a woman. Most of all, he felt ashamed for never realizing it to begin with. And he was supposed to be so smart and observant. 

“Don’t look so sad! No wonder everyone thinks you’re ill!”

Graves felt his face heat up and his eyes prickle. There was a creeping horror as he fought to quell the tears threatening to spill over. He had no idea where it was coming from, he hadn’t cried in front of another person since he was a child. It was humiliating, but he couldn’t keep a sob from escaping and then he was gasping into tightly clenched fists, tears streaming down his face. He felt Queenie rub his back gently as he fought to get a handle on himself. 

As his sobs subsided, a handkerchief floated in front of his face. He grabbed it and dabbed at his swollen eyes, deeply embarrassed by his outburst.

“Aw honey, don’t feel bad,” Queenie said softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that did feel very nice. “Everyone gets emotional sometimes.”

“I do not,” he sniffed, carefully not looking at her.

“Well, I think that’s a you thing, not a man thing,” Queenie said, not unkindly. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit… repressed?”

“Never,” Graves replied haughtily. And it was true, some things no one ever said to his face.

“Well, clean yourself up and I’ll show you some cosmetic charms,” she said. “They aren’t hard, I promise.”

So she claimed. Graves wanted to blame his unstable emotions for how tricky he found it, but really this kind of finicky magic was not his forte. But Queenie was remarkably patient with him. Once he managed to master a basic lipstick and mascara he thought he did look a bit more like he was used to seeing Queenie. He felt like quite a fool for not recognizing how a bit of makeup could change a witch’s appearance. 

They spent the rest of the work day brewing potions and trying out various spells to reverse the body swap. But everything they tried proved fruitless. Queenie had even found the time to read the books he had purchased on the subject and they devised a potion that might yield better results. However it needed to brew overnight.

“Let’s get a drink,” Queenie said while Graves brushed back his hair. Queenie’s golden curls had gotten a bit frizzed from leaning over a bubbling cauldron.

“Shouldn’t I get home and try not to make Tina suspicious?”

Queenie shrugged. “She won’t think it’s too odd that I’m out for the night,” she said. “She’ll just assume I’m on a date.”

“Oh, of course,” he muttered, ears turning red.

They left at different times after Queenie gave him the address for a popular speakeasy. Graves was not one for the bar scene. Being around so many people being social made him anxious. He preferred to do his despaired drinking by himself in the comfort of his own home.

The moment he arrived, removing his hat and coat, annoyed by the frizz of hair falling in his face, he felt the eyes of the bar drawn to him. Turning red, Graves looked resolutely ahead as the bar patrons stared at him, thinking all kinds of crude thoughts. Queenie was already at the bar, chatting with the bartender.

“You’re ruining my loner reputation,” he muttered under his breath after settling onto the stool next to her.

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket,” Queenie said good-naturedly, sliding over the drink she had ordered him.

Graves responded by swallowing his whiskey in one gulp. Queenie was more used to drinking hard than he expected, since he barely even flinched at the burn. 

“Hard day, darling?” the barkeep drawled at him with a flirtatious smirk.

“Let’s find a table,” Queenie suggested gently after seeing the look on Graves’s face.

Sequestered in their corner, Graves felt far more comfortable. Queenie ordered them another round of drinks and Graves took a deep swig.

“Might want to think about pacing yourself, honey,” Queenie said, amusement in her voice.

Graves frowned and finished his second drink in a flash. As he should have anticipated, Queenie was quite right. Of course he wasn’t used to drinking in a much smaller body and after his second drink burned through him and he started on a third, the room had begun to swim.

“You’re going to pass out on the table and then what will happen to my reputation?” Queenie said with a barely suppressed giggle.

“I’m – fine –“ Graves muttered, swallowing back a hiccup as he sipped his drink.

“I do think you’re maybe a bit… tightly wound,” Queenie told him some time later while the room tilted back and forth and Graves needed to grip the table to keep from toppling over.

“D-do you think so?” he muttered, listing to the side a fraction.

“Don’t you ever relax? Have fun?”

Graves snorted. Fun! What a concept. “I sometimes – have a cigar, read a good _hic_ book –“

“Sounds thrilling,” she deadpanned. “I think you do know how to have fun, judging by that standing mirror in your bedroom.”

Graves choked on his own spit and needed a long moment to recover, coughing hard enough to make his lungs hurt. “That is not for – that – whatever you’re implying –“

Queenie was laughing her head off and Graves frowned deeply. “As if you don’t have quality alone time, you and your mirror,” she said while Graves turned bright red. “I know what I’d use it for.”

Graves shut his eyes, trying not to picture what she was describing. He really should not have drunk so much.

“Let’s get you home,” Queenie said at last, wide grin still spread across her face.

He needed to lean against Queenie’s broad shoulder on the way out of the speakeasy, but once on the street and they’d said their goodbyes, Graves managed to disapparate without splinching himself, a miracle under the circumstances. He tiptoed with supreme care inside the apartment, very pleased that Tina seemed to have gone to bed already. He fell face-down on top of the covers, not bothering to get undressed. His head was throbbing far too much and he wanted nothing more than to be unconscious.

Several hours later he woke with a splitting headache and a throat too dry to endure. It was still dark out but he could no longer stand his discomfort. He rose, carefully stripped down to the lacy slip he wore under his dress and summoned a cold glass of water. He felt moderately better, but still quite miserable and curled up under Queenie’s comforter, cursing his string of bad decisions.

He could not stop thinking about Queenie’s teasing and playful insinuations. In truth he did not use his mirror for – that purpose. His upbringing had instilled a deep shame about his body that he often tried to rid himself of, but the remnants still clung. Not to say he didn’t indulge in such carnal pursuits. It was just that he did not speak of them so openly, without a care like Queenie did. He envied her ability to do so.

Was she asleep in his bed right now? Perhaps touching his body, enjoying the likely different way a male body responded to stimulation? She had given him the go ahead to do the same, but it still felt rather seedy and wrong. He couldn’t deny how his body responded to thinking about Queenie… enjoying herself. Not in his body this time, but in her own, in this very bed. He whimpered a bit, rolling over. His nipples hardened, brushing against the silk of his slip teasingly. It was easier in the dark, under the covers, to slip a hand over a breast, thumb brushing a nipple. He bit back a moan, shocked at the intensity of feeling. 

After several moments of exploring his chest, the shape and softness and Mercy Lewis, he would never get over how sensitive female nipples could be, he slipped a guilty hand between his legs. Yes, he was wet, very wet and it was like a shock of lightning to touch there. The slickness, the sensitivity, the white-hot pleasure of finding that little bump of flesh. Graves writhed under the covers, but no matter how intense the feeling he could never find the right way to touch or stroke to get to the main event, so to speak. He grunted in frustration, finger pushing briefly inside and then pulling out, spooked by the reality of penetration. His head still ached and he was exhausted, pleasure chased away by aggravation. 

Finally, unable to stand it, he wrapped himself tight in the bedsheet and rolled over, intent on getting some sleep, at the very least.

 

“Rough night?”

Graves frowned. Queenie was still in a good mood, impossibly. He didn’t know how she managed to be cheerful _all the time._ Tina had also giving him a gentle ribbing for coming home so late and he had tried to laugh it off. He was wondering how long he could possibly keep up the charade.

“If you need a hangover potion, I’m sure we can rustle one up,” Queenie said more kindly.

“Already took one,” he said. It had managed his headache, but not his bad mood. “I have coffee to deliver.”

Queenie waved a hand dismissively. “Just hide in your office for an hour or so, no one will notice. They’ll think you’re somewhere else delivering coffee.”

Graves wanted to argue, but he wanted to sit and brood much more. He sank onto the couch, forehead in hand.

“There’s no reason to be so glum all the time,” Queenie said, a bit irritated.

Graves’s head snapped up. “I’m trapped in another person’s body and I can’t – I can’t –“

Queenie looked slightly alarmed at the outburst and Graves shut his mouth. “Can’t what, honey?”

“Nothing.” He frowned, perhaps looking a bit more petulant than he would have liked.

Queenie gave him a skeptical look.

“I tried – what you said, your, uh, suggestion. And it didn’t work.”

“Didn’t work? An orgasm always works.”

As always, her frankness made him turn bright red. “No, I couldn’t – get there.”

Queenie gave him a knowing smile and Graves looked carefully elsewhere. “I guess it’s a bit tricky when you’re just starting out,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Here, let me show you.”

“Sorry, what?” Graves said sharply, head whipping around.

Queenie pushed the chair away from his desk, turning to face him. She patted her knee. Graves blinked at her in disbelief.

“Queenie, I –“

“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” she said. “Hop on.”

Graves hesitated for a long moment. But that familiar warmth was spreading in his lower belly and maybe Queenie was right. Maybe he was a bit too repressed.

He perched on her knee, her hand snaking around his belly to pull him close. He felt so slight and fragile with that thick, masculine form behind him. Broad shoulders, broad chest, broad hand spread over his trim waist. He was glad they weren’t facing each other because he knew his face was flushed and hot.

“It’s about pressure,” Queenie said softly, mouth now very close to his ear. Graves drew in a shaky breath as her lips brushed his ear.

Really, his hands were ridiculous. Far too much hand for one person, he thought as that hand pulled up his skirt. Rough fingers grazed the soft skin of his inner thigh and a shiver ran through him. Graves shut his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t suppress a tiny yelp as fingers pushed inside his tap pants, tracing the delicate skin. He squirmed despite himself, one hand still on his belly to keep him in place. A shivery moan escaped his throat as Queenie stroked him, fingers teasing that sensitive bud with touches alternating between soft and firm.

“Shh,” Queenie whispered in his ear again and he arched into her hand, unable to stop his high-pitched gasp.

He wasn’t sure how Queenie managed it so perfectly, but she circled his clit with two broad, lightly calloused fingers and he was dizzy with pleasure. It was familiar but also amazingly new and unique, the way he could feel it in his toes, in his fingertips, his nipples tightening without even being touched. He had fumbled for so long trying to get himself off and hadn’t come half this close. Her fingers dipped lower, pushing into him just enough to make him squeal and then back up to stroke his clit, pace quickening perfectly. He writhed against the broad expanse of his chest, not caring how ridiculous he looked because it felt so divine. Her fingers sped up and in no time he came with a shout, gasping incoherently at the waves of sensation, muscles contracting, skin on fire.

Panting, Graves slumped against her. He felt quite boneless, a pleasant tingle suffusing his whole body as he shuddered minutely, exquisitely sensitive.

“Good?” Queenie muttered next to his ear and Graves managed to nod.

“Very good,” he mumbled, quite overcome.

“Here,” she said softly, taking his hand and guiding it between his legs. “One of the many benefits of being female.”

Graves gasped sharply, the feel of his own fingers almost too much so soon. But Queenie guided him slowly, teasingly pushing at his entrance and lazily stroking his clit until he was writhing against her yet again. Her other hand slid up his body, finding his breast and palming it over the silk of his dress and chemise. Nipples truly are a marvel, he thought dimly as Queenie pinched one, rolling it through the thin silk. It took longer this time, but the combined stimulation of his nipples as Queenie showed just how to circle and stroke his clit made for an intense resolution, his second orgasm enough to make him nearly collapse, rutting wildly on her lap.

“Mercy Lewis,” he mumbled when the aftereffects subsided. It was a wonder women weren’t doing that constantly.

He sat up a bit, legs gone so wobbly he wasn’t sure he could stand right away. Queenie was still holding him against her and he became aware of the hard cock poking him in the hip.

“I must apologize,” he muttered, hand sliding up her thigh to stroke the bulge in her trousers. “I’ve been so selfish.”

Queenie giggled against his neck, the sound turning into a shuddering groan as he continued to touch her. Graves stayed perched on her lap, fumbling to open the buttons on her trousers. Once he had his hand wrapped around her straining cock, he stroked it firmly, delighting in the grumble of pleasure he could feel in her chest. It was bizarre, handling his own cock from this angle and hearing those carnal moans from the outside. But if anyone was an expert at touching this cock, it was Graves. He swiped a thumb over the leaking tip and pumped slow and firm the way he liked. Queenie groaned, hips lifting up slightly to push harder into his hand. He stroked harder, pausing to squeeze the tip, feeling the hot skin heavy in his palm. The drag of pre-come over the slick cock-head was both familiar and strange, especially with his hand so much smaller than it normally was. It didn’t take long to stroke her to a quivering orgasm and he made sure to summon a handkerchief in time to catch the mess before it got everywhere.

Graves couldn’t help but grin smugly as Queenie sighed in contentment, nuzzling his neck. He could feel her heart beating hard against his back, as she slumped boneless in her chair.

“Wasn’t that fun?” she mumbled, brushing the sweat-dampened hair off his face.

“It was good,” he conceded, still quite flushed. Now that they were basking in the afterglow, it was hard to shake how strange it all was, being petted by his own hand while sitting on his own lap.

He struggled to stand, legs wobbling slightly, adjusting clothes that had gone askew and fussing with his hair. “We should check on that potion,” he muttered awkwardly, not really looking at her.

“Suppose so,” she said, sounding a bit dejected.

The whole experience had clearly caused him to lose his mind. The sooner they got it all fixed, the better. But he still couldn’t look Queenie in the eye as he bustled to the corner where the potion had been bubbling away, hand shaking a fraction as he measured its progress. 

 

“Listen,” Queenie said, sounding a bit testy. “If we don’t get this solved by next week I’m going to Tina myself. It’s been fun hanging out in your body, but I’m not looking to move in permanently.”

“That’s fair,” Graves muttered, surveying the failure of their latest potion with dismay. “We may be thinking about this all wrong.”

“Well, we can’t spend all day thinking about it, can we?”

Graves conceded that she was right. They still had to pretend that nothing was wrong and that meant doing Queenie’s job to the best of his ability.

He was in the break room, brewing a fresh round of coffee to deliver to afternoon meetings when a witch from the secretarial pool approached him.

“Where do you keep disappearing to, Queenie?” she said with a knowing little smirk and Graves tried his best to return the smile coyly.

“Personal business,” he settled on, thinking that was just playful enough to sound Queenie-ish.

“Lulu said you disappeared onto the fifth floor for _hours_ this morning,” the witch continued. “Say, isn’t Director Graves the only person with an office on that floor?”

Graves could feel his cheeks turn pink and he hurried to busy his hands with the coffee urn.

“Oh, you little minx!” the witch laughed. “I know you won’t kiss and tell but isn’t he a bit…” The witch struggled to find the right adjective while Graves longed for death. “'Cold fish' doesn’t seem like the right term,” she finally said with amusement. “Not strong enough. He’s spooky, don’t you think? Grim. Makes my skin crawl. Especially after that business with Grindelwald.”

“We aren’t –“ Graves swallowed thickly, wishing his face didn’t get so red even in another person’s body. “Mr. Graves and I have a perfectly professional relationship.”

The witch rolled her eyes. In her head, she was thinking of Graves in very unflattering terms. She imagined that a ghost would make a better lover. “If you say so,” she said with a giggle, and wandered off.

Graves was really far too old to let schoolyard insults get to him, but, no matter how far away in time his unpleasant childhood memories were, they still stung. _Cold fish_ was among the tamest of insults that had been thrown at him, but the idea of underlings gossiping about him mortified him all the same. Worst of all, perhaps, Queenie had now been dragged into it.

He wrapped up his day, more exhausted that usual. The need to constantly interact with people and be cheerful was far more mentally taxing than sitting in his office pouring over paperwork. He dropped by to see what progress Queenie made and she seemed to divine his mood from his expression alone.

“Come and sleep in your own bed tonight,” she said gently.

“But –“

“Tina will think I got lucky, I’m sure.”

Of course, Graves felt himself blush.

But, apparating to his own apartment was a very welcome relief. Even that slightly musty smell from the lack of dusting was a comfort. Queenie had already arrived and was banging around in his kitchen.

“Go and have a drink if you want, honey!” she called brightly from the stove.

Graves nodded and went to relax in the sitting room. The image of himself cheerfully stirring a pot while wearing a frilly apron was certainly a sight to behold. He lit a fire in the hearth with a wave of his hand and summoned a decanter of scotch. A smoke is what really would make the evening complete, but he wouldn’t without Queenie’s permission.

In what felt like no time, Queenie was calling him for dinner. She had created quite a feast: roast chicken, peas, gravy, buttered rolls, rhubarb pie for dessert.

“This is lovely,” he said, feeling a bit inadequate since he had spent the evening relaxing. “Here, let me carve.”

Queenie handed him the knife, looking pleased with herself. “I love cooking,” she said, a slight flush to her cheeks. “It relaxes me.”

Graves served her a heaping portion of chicken, choosing the best-looking cuts for her plate while she spooned out peas for both of them. While they settled in to eat, Graves waved his hand and summoned candles in ornate silver holders, lighting them with a second flick of his fingers. Queenie grinned in delight.

The meal tasted as delicious as it looked and Queenie chatted away, filling the silence with more stories than Graves could have thought possible when she spent the day sitting at his desk. He used to be slightly annoyed by her constant stream of talk, but over dinner he found himself enjoying it. It was nice to not be expected to contribute much except a few nods or, “Oh really?” interjected for variety.

He thought of telling her about the gossip concerning them, but he didn’t want to spoil the mood. After dinner had been eaten and Queenie set the dishes to washing themselves in the sink, they retired to the blazing fire and the sitting room. Graves refilled his tumbler of scotch and offered one to Queenie.

She continued chatting in his general direction and Graves was actually enjoying himself. Usually his nights by the fire were an excuse to brood and flagellate himself but such dark impulses were impossible in Queenie’s company.

He laughed out loud at one of her jokes, the scotch and her warmth relaxing every sore muscle in his body.

Queenie grinned and slid closer to him on the couch. “You’re having fun,” she said, poking him hard in the side.

Graves immediately sobered and frowned into his glass. “Am not.”

“Liar.”

She was looming over him now. Mercy Lewis, why did he have to be so _tall?_

“You always make that face,” she muttered, voice gone gravelly. “Like a spooked horse.” She took the half-drunk tumbler of scotch from his hand and put it on the end table.

Graves swallowed thickly, allowing her to tip his chin upward with a calloused finger in order to press her mouth on his. Watching his own face descend towards him was creepy, so he shut his eyes. It was nice this way, just the feel of her mouth. It didn’t matter who was in whose body, they were just two people, kissing. Her tongue swept against his closed lips and he jerked back.

“Queenie,” he said softly, eyes still shut so he wouldn’t see his own face up so close. “I don’t think –“

“What have I told you about being a wet blanket?” she said gently, hand cupping the back of his neck, drawing him back to her mouth, and whatever hesitation he'd felt vanished.

It was so strange, touching his own body with someone else inside it. He stroked the back of her neck, rubbed her broad chest through several layers of smooth fabric. She held his face while kissing him soundly, tongue in his mouth, teeth tugging slightly at his bottom lip. The scrape of stubble was an alarming novelty, but he ignored that, focusing on the feel of her kissing him. It was Queenie in there, despite what all his senses told him. Queenie was kissing him senseless and that’s all that mattered. He was breathless when she finally pulled back, stroking his cheek.

“Don’t you want to sleep in your own bed tonight?” she said in a low whisper, lips grazing his ear. He could read Queenie’s thoughts loud and clear and she wasn’t thinking about sleeping.

Graves felt a shiver run up his spine as he nodded shakily. It was entirely bizarre, following himself into his own bedroom.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Queenie said with a giggle, reaching for him and starting to unbutton the back of his dress.

“Incredibly,” he muttered, closing his eyes and pulling at the buttons on her waistcoat by touch alone.

When they were both naked and Graves lay under Queenie as she kissed and stroked him lightly, she paused. He cracked open an eye to see her expression.

“You sure, honey?” she whispered.

He thought a moment and then nodded. He was in Queenie’s body and the feel of a hard cock poking him in the belly was _strange_ but there was still an empty feeling deep inside him, craving something to fill it.

Queenie nudged his legs open and stroked his clit with a broad, rough thumb. Graves couldn’t suppress a shivering moan as her fingers swept lower, dipping inside him. It was weird, but not painful, and when she circled his clit at the same time he felt himself clench around her fingers and groaned. She pulled out and then her cock prodded his entrance and he tried not to seize up in fear. 

“Oh, this is weird,” Queenie muttered, almost to herself. “But kind of good? Yeah, let’s stick with good.” She rubbed her cock against the seam of his slick cunt and Graves had to agree.

She pushed in, slow but smooth, and Graves had to say he had never felt anything remotely like this. He moaned, arching towards her and _good_ was the only word flashing through his short-circuited mind. Queenie was making some interesting noises herself, almost like a litany of _wowowowow_ under her breath. 

Finally Queenie was completely inside him. Not moving.

Graves peeked at her through half-closed eyes, seeing the look of bliss on her face. “You have to – you have to move,” Graves muttered, highly embarrassed even with a cock deep inside him.

“Oh, right,” Queenie murmured, a little breathless, and she began to thrust.

“H-harder,” Graves stuttered out, eyes squeezed shut, surprised by his own desperate voice.

She picked up the pace, fucking him harder and deeper and Graves felt so boneless that all he could do was move with her body as she held his hips with strong, thick hands.

His orgasm was sudden and intense and he cursed out loud, the feeling going on and on as Queenie kept pounding him. The headboard was actually knocking against the wall with every down stroke and Graves couldn’t bring himself to care. He could only grip the bedsheets in trembling fists as Queenie worked up to a punishing rhythm. It didn’t seem long until he came a second time, waves of pleasure crashing over him and tugging at his insides like a receding riptide. Queenie’s pace was flagging, hips stuttering, and with a jerky groan he felt her seize up and come. She thrust against him wildly and then collapsed, crushing him momentarily before rolling off.

“Mercy Lewis,” she said breathlessly and Graves could only nod half-heartedly. He was far too exhausted to move, despite feeling a bit sore and sticky between his legs.

But Queenie wasn’t done with him and she was cuddling up to him in no time. Graves had never been the most comfortable with cuddling, but he hadn’t slept with a woman in years either. Queenie’s mind was tingling with feelings of deep fondness for him as she curled around him like a cat settling down for a nap, tucking her face close to his. The closeness, the intimacy, her tenderness towards him, it was all strange and unusual for Graves, who kept to himself so staunchly that he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d made love to anyone, let alone hugged them. It all made him feel more lonely than ever, even with Queenie right beside him. And nice though it was in her arms, he missed being inside his real body. He wanted to hold her properly, kiss her, pick her up and hold her close. He could feel her breathing even out and as she drifted off, Graves’s mind was still a riot of confusion, keeping sleep at bay.

 

The next morning, they slept in late. Graves had not intended on it, but it was Saturday and neither of them had anywhere to be. Though he was an early riser by nature and it felt unnatural to sleep past dawn, so many nights of poor sleep had taken its toll. Once exhaustion had taken him, he fell into a deep slumber.

When he climbed back to consciousness, Queenie was still beside him. Seeing himself from the outside, sleeping peacefully, a look of contentment on his face, he should have felt good. But it only reminded him of how rarely he genuinely felt that way. Maybe Queenie could be happy enough for the both of them.

He got up, pulled on his own shirt that Queenie had discarded the night before and a pair of his own boxer shorts. They were absurdly big on Queenie’s tiny frame, but felt comfortable and familiar. He started on coffee while Queenie still slept.

She had not yet emerged when the coffee was prepared, pale and sweet the way she liked it, bitter with a dash of milk the way he did, and he floated them in front of him as he went back to the bedroom.

“We never used the mirror,” Queenie commented, now awake and sitting up in bed. “Oh, lovely, thanks.”

Graves blushed, letting Queenie’s mug of coffee float towards her and into her hand. “I hope this isn’t… too bizarre,” he said rather sheepishly, perching on the end of the bed.

“Oh, it’s completely wild,” she said cheerfully. “But in a good way. I hope you aren’t too sore?” She gave him a cheeky wink that made him look down into his coffee.

“That redheaded witch thinks we’re having an affair,” he blurted out, unable to keep it to himself anymore.

“You mean Viola? Well, we are, aren’t we?” Queenie said, looking very unconcerned. 

“I-I suppose,” Graves stuttered, thrown by her casual reaction. “But she’s a gossip, she’ll tell everyone…”

Queenie waved a dismissive hand. “Who really cares what _everyone_ thinks? You need to lighten up, Percival,” she gave him a fond look that had him more confused. He honestly didn’t know what she could see in him and like so much. “I’ve been thinking,” she continued thoughtfully after a long sip of coffee. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong. Shouldn’t we use what we already have and work backwards?”

Graves must have stared at her in utter confusion because she laughed.

“The orb! That started this mess!”

“Right, of course,” he muttered, embarrassed. He’d been so caught up with the mess inside his head that he hadn’t been thinking about that at all.

“I was just thinking – it’s like a dress you don’t have the pattern for. You take it apart to see how the pieces fit together and once you have the measurements you can sew your own. Just a thought, anyway.”

“That’s good,” Graves said, the gears in his head slowly clicking along. “That’s really good.” He leapt up, energized by this discovery. But he paused at the door and turned back. “Are you going to help me or just laze around?” he said and Queenie giggled, swinging her long legs out of bed.

 

Two hours later, Graves had constructed a second orb using a crystal ball he had in storage. The remains of the first one were shattered on the worktable before them, surrounded by the debris of crushed herbs and slips of parchment with incantations inked in Queenie’s neat handwriting. 

“It’s now or never,” Queenie said with an excited little grin.

Graves had tied his hair back with a piece of string while he worked, tired of curls always falling in his eyes. Queenie had donned one of Graves’s smoking robes in her haste to get started and her hair was still an uncombed mess.

Taking a deep breath, Graves prodded the orb with his wand to activate it – hopefully. Then, with a quick nod at Queenie, they both reached out to touch it.

There was a loud bang and then that familiar fizzle. Graves’s ears were ringing but as his vision swam back into focus he looked down and saw his own green silk robe and bare hairy legs poking out the bottom. He gave a shout of victory and looked over to see Queenie sitting up, rubbing her eyes. “Queenie, it worked! It worked, didn’t it? You’re in there, you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she exclaimed, looking down and squealing with delight. “Right back where I belong!”

Graves leapt to his feet, rubbing his own chest, enjoying the feel of having his own hands and feet and voice as he let out a laugh.

“You’re laughing, are you sure you’re Percival Graves?” Queenie said with a sly grin.

“Just happy to be home,” he said in a small voice. “And we wouldn’t be here without your brilliant insight,” he said sincerely. His old self wouldn’t have been so quick to dole out compliments, but he still remembered the sting of being condescended to and taken for granted.

Queenie blushed, shrugging her shoulders, but looking pleased all the same. She grinned and he wanted to reach over and cup her cheek, dip his thumb into that charming dimple. 

“Well, get over here and kiss me if you want it so bad,” she said, biting her lip.

Graves felt his cheeks heat up but he couldn’t deny her when she looked so pretty and he was so thrilled with her. He stroked her cheek and leaned down to kiss her properly as she slid her arms around his neck.

“Mmm, that was nice,” she said softly as they broke apart. “It was nice being a man for a minute, but I’m glad to be myself again.”

“Agreed,” Graves muttered, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. He wasn’t used to so much physical touch and tactile sensation and he reveled in the feel of her skin as he stroked her face, her own little hands pushing into the collar of his robe.

“Now, you’re not gonna get funny on me, are you?” she said after a few more kisses.

“What do you mean?” Graves mumbled, a bit taken aback.

“You know what I mean, Mr. Repressed-Never-Have-Fun-Ever,” she said with an attractive pout. “Are you gonna be my fella or not?”

Graves felt his heart swell in his chest and a small smile play on his lips as he brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “I’ll be your fella if you’ll be my gal,” he said, chest tight with fondness, and she grinned huge, popping up on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

“Let’s go back to bed,” she said softly against his lips. “We got all day.”


End file.
